


Where the Wildflowers Grow

by commandershakarian



Series: The Witcher [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Kian of Kovir, Petra Delgaard - Freeform, Wedding, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commandershakarian/pseuds/commandershakarian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The witch of Murky Waters, Petra Delgaard, marries the man she loves, the bard Dandelion. With her friends by her side, she begins the start of her new life and it promises to be everything she ever wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the characters thrown in this mini-fic are mine or my friends' Witcher OCs. I own Petra and Kian, while Helena, Luthien and Eira are owned by gwyncath (Tumblr) and Angharad is owned by my-hart-will-go-on (Tumblr).

A cool breeze entered the hut, rustling the pages of the open book on the table. With a light smile on her face, Petra reached out to fix the book, making sure the potion displayed on the parchment was the correct one. Then she returned to her cauldron. Smoke curled from the bubbling liquid within, smelling of all spice root and honeysuckle. The scent was a pleasant one and Petra was looking forward to tasting the concoction. The door of her home opened to reveal a tiny elven woman. Her lithe frame was draped in a gown of emerald silk, a gift from Saskia the Dragonslayer for the Scoia'tael’s involvement in protecting Vergen. Petra had never seen her dear friend in silk before and had to admit that the color was lovely paired with Luthien’s pale skin, hazel-green eyes and dark hair. The contrast was striking.

Luthien bounced into the hut happily, a smile proudly her face. She wrapped her arms around Petra’s waist, pressing a soft kiss to her wavy golden brown hair. “Today’s the day!” she sang out, stepping away from the witch and twirling, her gown puffing up around her. Petra could only imagine what thoughts would go through Iorveth’s mind at seeing his lover in that much fabric. Once the elf stopped moving, she noticed the smell in the air. She sniffed curiously. “Is that what I think it is?”

Petra glanced at her, a playful look on her face. “Of course it is. I promised, didn’t I?”

Luthien clapped her hands together, unable to contain her excitement. “Oh, lovely! Perhaps it will take the sour expression from Iorveth’s face.”

Petra shook her head, a laugh on her lips. “Is the grump still acting as if he’d rather be anywhere else?”

Lu nodded, reaching up to check on Petra’s braided hair. “He claims that there are too many humans. He looks ready to bolt for the forest.”

“He can surely try to escape, but Geralt will just follow and drag him back.” Petra replied, stirring the liquid in the caudron one final time before dowsing the fire underneath. “Can you fetch Geralt? I need him to lift the cauldron from the fire for me.” She paused a moment before adding a final thought. “I would like to speak to him before as well.”

Luthien disappeared in an instant, as quick as a cat. Petra quickly cleared the mess from the table, not wishing to have chores after the festivities. As she placed the last of the honeysuckle in a jar, the famed White Wolf entered the hut, the sound of his boots on the ground alerting her to his presence just as much as the magical aura surrounding him. Her gaze founds his, a pair of golden eyes eerily resembling a cat's stared back at her.

Geralt studied her appearance, his face masking any emotion. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stood there. If she had a mind to, she would have teased him. Instead, she waited for him to speak first. 

“You called for me?”

Petra nodded, waving towards the large pot. She didn’t need to explain. She’d used him many times for a similar request and with the usual ‘mhm’ the witcher did as he was expected. He placed the cauldron on the table beside the small bowls she had waiting. Patting the witcher on the arm, she gave him a grateful nod before turning back to work. She filled a ladle with the liquid before pouring it into the small bowls. Once cooled, her guests would enjoy the pudding, a delicacy that her mother had taught her to make years ago. A delicacy that was a favorite among her friends.

Geralt was quiet, so quiet that Petra had thought he left. When she glanced over her shoulder, she found him waiting for her, his eyes watching her movements carefully. Petra was about to speak when Geralt held up a hand, silencing her. Biting her lip, she waited patiently for the man to speak.

He cleared his throat, his hand going to the back of his neck. “I’ve known you for quite some time, Petra… To think you fell in love with Dandelion is strange.”

“You don’t approve?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar way he was acting. 

“It’s not that. Out of anyone I know, Dandelion fits you best. He’ll care for you and love you until his dying day.” Geralt paused, his discomfort coming from him in waves as if it was a magic all its own. 

Petra placed the spoon on the table so that she could face Geralt fully. “Then what’s the issue?”

Geralt let out a quick breath and covered his face with his hand. The corners of Petra’s lips twitched but she fought back a smile. “It’s hard to believe that Dandelion is getting married.”

Petra laughed at the incredulousness in his voice. Geralt dropped his hand from his face and looked at her curiously. “Big brother Geralt, you are. See? You really do care about people, White Wolf.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Petra teased, putting her hands on her hips. “All of the years we’ve known each other and you decide  _ now _ to be concerned about me. You can’t tell me that you haven’t worried about me before, Geralt.”

“I have, Petra.” Geralt admitted, shocking the witch into silence. She certainly wasn’t expecting him to admit to actually caring about anyone, let alone her. “When you were a werewolf, I very nearly killed you. You would have just been another monster that I’d killed as a witcher. Nothing more, nothing less. I’ve wondered for years what kind of person I would have been had I killed you. I’m not sure I want to know.”

Petra, her voice quiet, replied, “But you didn’t, Geralt.”

Geralt nodded. He closed the distance between them, not a sound coming from his boots. Taking her hands in his, he continued. “I didn’t and I couldn’t be happier. I get to see you marry one of my best friends. I get to be there beside you both and there is nothing that could make me regret my choice all of those years ago.”

Tears were in Petra’s eyes before she could stop them. “Damn you, Geralt of Rivia.” 

The witcher chuckled and pulled her in for a hug, pressing a kiss to her hair, the scent of sea water and roses tickling his nose. “I love you, sister. Now wipe your eyes. We have a wedding to attend.”

With her arm in Geralt’s, Petra exited the hut into the fresh spring air. The sounds of Luthien’s lyre reached where they stood and the witch felt her heart pick up speed at the thought of seeing her husband to be in the next few moments. After everything they’d been through, everything they’d lost and gained, to be able to finally get to this day was luck. But to have the guests they did, witchers and sorceresses and vampires, that was beyond miraculous. 

Her bare feet found the small walkway made of rose petals that Luthien had created. The scent of the blossoms filled the air. Her hazel eyes scanned the crowd gathered. Luthien was standing near the beginning of the path, playing a soft romantic melody with her lyre. Next to the elf was Iorveth, the leader of the Scoia'tael and Luthien’s lover. He watched the festivities with one of the first smiles Petra had ever seen on him that wasn’t aimed in the direction of the woman he loved. His face was still half-covered with a cloth, hiding the scar that he hated, but the smile was difficult to miss.

The next few guests were honored ones: Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla of Cintra, and the Witchers Eskel and Lambert. She hadn’t seen many of them in quite a while and to have all of those she cared for in one place made her beyond happy. Eskel’s lady love stood beside him, her hand in his although she tried to hide that fact behind the folds of her skirt. Angharad Martel was an icy sorceress and did not make friends easily, but her love for Eskel was legendary. It even impressed Geralt in its intensity. Lambert wasn’t alone either. His druid lover, Eira, had become exceptionally good friends with Petra. There was no way that she’d ever miss this.

Petra was pleasantly surprised to see that Helena Valmont and Regis had made it. The higher vampires didn’t socialize often, but Helena and Petra had a long history. She was grateful that history still meant something. Standing beside the vampires was another old friend, this one from Keira Metz, the sorceress and an old friend of hers, Kian of Kovir. Kian was a witcher from the school of the Griffon. He wasn’t easily likeable, but somehow, he’d become good friends with the White Wolf. They’d even saved each other on occasion. And somehow, Triss Merigold had fallen in love with him.

Zoltan Chivay was waiting for her approach. He would preside over the ceremony and as excited as Petra was to get married, Zoltan was just as excited to perform it. Finally, Petra’s gaze found Dandelion. He was standing tall and proud, the lilac of his clothing shining in the sun. His blue eyes took in the sight of her in her wedding clothes, her hair in an elaborate braid, roses scattered throughout her hair. She looked much like the princesses he would describe in his ballads and poems. For a moment, both stared at one another, the realization that they were getting married  _ finally _ and that nothing could stop them.

When she reached where he stood, Dandelion took her hand in his, his eyes lit with excitement. Geralt, after a kiss to his adopted sister’s forehead, stepped back to join the audience, leaving Petra and Dandelion together. There is only silence as the bard stared at the beauty in front of him. Petra smiled, knowing how easy it was for him to be dazzled by her presence. Leaning slightly forward, knowing that no matter how lowly she whispered, every one of their guests would hear her words. Privacy didn’t exist when one was friends with witchers, sorceresses, elves, and vampires.

“Are you alright?” She asked, tightening her grip on his hands. 

Dandelion nodded, a mischievous grin upon his handsome face. She could only imagine the things circling in his head, but she was relieved when all he whispered back was an “I love you.”

Zoltan cleared his throat before giving them a stern glare. He was taking this entire ceremony seriously and Petra loved him for it. “Let’s get on with this.”

Petra, with as serious of an expression as she could muster, agreed with the dwarf. She wanted to be married to this man. She’d waited long enough. Everyone fell silent as Zoltan asked Dandelion and Petra if they took one another in marriage. After their responses, Zoltan moved on. The newlyweds would read vows to one another, personal and full of all of the love that they had.

Petra nodded, her hands sweating as nervousness took her. She wasn’t usually nervous in front of crowds, but this was different. These people, no matter that they were friends, those she considered her family, she felt like the words she wrote were too personal for them to hear. 

She continued on despite her fear. “Dandelion, my friend, the man of my life and the love of my heart. There is not a day that I don’t thank whatever gods sent you to me. You’ve made me a better version of myself. You’ve given me strength when I’ve wavered. You’ve given me hope when I feared. You pushed me to help those in need, even if the risk was great. I would not be the woman I am without you. I love you, for now and always.”

The sound of sniffling reached her ears and for a moment, Petra thought that she had started crying. Reaching up a hand to wipe tears from her cheeks, she was surprised to find none there. Her eyes scanned the crowd watching and she saw the sorceress, Angharad, wipe her eyes quickly before putting on a serious face. The witch smiled, touched that the sorceress was moved by the proceedings.

Zoltan cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable by the show of emotion Angharad was having. If Petra thought about it, it would make even the most hardened warrior uncomfortable. “Dandelion, care to continue?”

“Of course, Zoltan.” The bard replied, drawing Petra’s eyes to him once more. “Where should I begin? Perhaps the beginning?”

A groan broke the quiet following his question. Petra was unsure who made the noise, but if she trusted her instincts, she could guarantee it was either Lambert or Kian. Or both. Both made more sense.

Dandelion smirked. “The day I first met this lovely lady, it had been a  _ murky _ day…”

“Damn it, Dandelion. Just say the vows.” Angharad hissed, the tears hidden as if they’d never been there in the first place. “There are drinks waiting in the Inn for me.”

“And a warm bed for others.” Lambert added, putting his arm around Eira as she blushed, crimson red in the sunlight.

Dandelion flashed a grin at the crowd, enjoying how easy it was to rile them up. Petra noted that Geralt hadn’t said a word yet. He probably wouldn’t. The less he knew about her and Dandelion, the better for him. “Fine. I can bend to the whims of the audience, of course.” His blue eyes, sparkling with mischief, met hers again. They turned kinder as he looked at her, the love he held in his heart for her the most obvious thing in the world. “Petra, I…” He trailed off as he stood there, unable to find the words that he had written so well earlier that day. After a moment of contemplation, he decided to throw caution to the wind and speak from the heart. “Petra, I’ve spent many years travelling the Continent. I’ve met many interesting people. Fought, or more accurately, ran away from fighting. I’ve written many ballads about the adventures of our mutual friends here, but there is nothing that brings me more happiness or fulfillment than knowing that no matter what I’ve done, no matter what I  _ haven’t _ done, you’ve been there by my side. You’re my best friend-” He paused to glance at Geralt. The witcher had an amused look on his face. “Sorry, Geralt.”

“No offense taken, Dandelion.” 

Petra’s smile couldn’t possibly get wider. As Dandelion returned to her, he seemed focused once again. “I love you, Petra Delgaard, and I’m honored that you would marry this fool.”

Tears were not only in her eyes this time. She could hear the sniffling of her friends, but she ignored them. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the man in front of her. Zoltan began to speak things about the pair being officially husband and wife, but none of that mattered anymore. This moment in the garden where the wildflowers grow, with those she loved surrounding her, her hands entwined with the man who was her destiny, she was happiest. It was all she’d ever wanted. 

To think that a curse and witcher’s blade might have prevented this...

Dandelion interrupted her thoughts. With a sheepish look, his blue eyes gazed at her curiously. “May I kiss you?”

Petra covered her mouth and laughed, finding it a ridiculous question. They were married now. “I expect you to.”

Dandelion smirked, a hand on her waist. With his usual showmanship, the bard dipped her, strands of her hair nearly brushing the grass beneath their feet. His lips found hers easily. The kiss was chaste, but not without passion. Petra could hear the claps and hollers from her friends, but her focus was on Dandelion, on her _ husband _ . The feel of his lips upon hers, his hands warm against her waist. This was the beginning of wonderful things and for once, Petra looked forward to the future.


	2. Chapter 2

“A toast for the newlyweds!” 

Kian of Kovir glanced up to see the Scoia'tael leader standing atop one of the only empty tables of the Inn. The elf’s face was red from the booze he’d been drinking most of the night, the tankard in his hand raised towards the ceiling. His feet were steady despite the amount he’d imbibed. His lover stood a few feet away, a look of annoyance on her pretty face. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, hazel-green eyes glaring up at him.

“Iorveth, come  _ down _ here. You look ridiculous.” Luthien said, her nose scrunched up. There was a bit of pinkness to her cheeks, but she was trying her best to not be embarrassed by the commando. Kian hoped for her sake that Iorveth would behave.

Iorveth, however, did not hear her words because of the increased volume within the building. His balance wavered for a moment before he managed to correct himself. He lifted the cup again. “To Petra and Dande... Dan... Sod it, to Petra and that  _ dh'oine _ ! May he treat her well or else he will answer to my blade!”

Luthien covered her face with her small hands, flushed to the tips of her ears. Kian sighed and rubbed his chin, the beard there scratching his fingers. The newly married couple were long gone at this point in the evening. Petra had been up early preparing dishes for dinner and Dandelion had drunk enough to keep Petra busy for quite a while. Kian was grateful they were gone. The last thing they needed on their first night of marriage was to deal with drunken friends. Especially Iorveth. The fool.

The sorceress Triss Merigold sat beside Kian, her hand covering her mouth, shocked by the display. Kian would find have found her reaction endearing if he didn’t expect a fight to break out. 

As if chaos had hailed him to the center, Lambert began the walk to where Iorveth stood, the elf now drinking out of his mug. The youngest witcher had his hands on his hips, his cat-like eyes glaring. Eira Vollan, the druid mage who somehow found something in Lambert to love, stood from her seat, prepared for the inevitable. Her intentions were quite clear by the look on her face. She would pull her lover back if she had to.

“Hey, jackass!” Lambert called out, pulling the tankard from Iorveth’s hands violently. He lost his grip on it and the mug clattered to the ground, spilling wine all over the floorboards. “Maybe you should get down and control yourself.”

“Lambert…” Eira’s voice called in warning to the witcher. He either didn’t hear her or ignored her because instead of heeding her warning, one he really should have, he reached up to grab Iorveth’s arm. Kian wasn’t sure if his intention was to remove him from the table or to start a brawl. It didn’t matter in the end.

Iorveth quickly retrieved a dagger from his boot. His movements were so fluid that it was almost as if he hadn’t drank that entire bottle of wine by himself. The weapon went to Lambert’s throat as the witcher reached for his steel sword. Why either of them had their weapons at a wedding was a good question to ask, one that Kian would demand the moment things settled down.

At the sight of the dagger, Kian stood, knocking his chair over as he did so. He had intended to stop either man from doing something stupid and irreversible, but he paused. The strong feeling of magic was in the air before he could move further. Lambert vehemently cursed the moment his hand touched his sword. He pulled away quickly, a burn forming on the section of his palm where he’d gripped the pommel. Iorveth was no longer on the table, but was laying on the ground instead. His knife had imbedded itself in the wall behind him. The elf was holding his head, clearly having knocked it against the floor. 

Kian noticed he wasn’t the only one who had moved. Angharad Martel stood beside the table she’d been sitting at, her hand raised in warning towards the elf. Kian snorted, impressed by the sorceress’ power. She had thrown a man clear across the room without batting her strange multicolored eyes. Kian glanced at Eskel. His old friend had an enormous grin on his face. At least someone was enjoying themselves. The scent of lilac and gooseberries signaled the other woman who had intervened. Her magic had heated the metal portion of Lambert’s sword, scalding his skin when he’d touched it. Anyone would fear the wrath of Yennefer of Vengerberg and rightly so. 

With hands raised, Yen’s violet gaze levelled a threat at each man involved in the fight. “Children- can we behave for one night?”

Iorveth and Lambert grumbled some sort of half-assed apology and Yennefer rolled her eyes, knowing that was the best she was going to get. She made a quick wave of her hand and muttered an incantation, reversing the spell she’d cast on Lambert. The witcher glared at the sorceress, but said nothing. Smart of him, Kian thought. Yennefer could surely come up with something a lot worse if she put her mind to it.

Kian took his seat as the guests dispersed to different places. Yennefer and a few others retired to their rooms, Luthien and Iorveth among them. It was probably for the best, he thought. Iorveth would do nothing but cause more trouble and if he was being honest, Kian was tired. The last thing he wanted to deal with was bloody noses and stab wounds. 

Once the chaos had cleared, a small sigh escaped his companion. Kian raised an eyebrow and glanced to his right, the appearance of a grin on Triss Merigold’s face the only invitation he needed to rest an arm across her shoulders.

“That was quite the spectacle.” Her voice was nearly breathless, almost as if she’d been holding it the entire time. 

“Thank the gods for magic’s timely intervention, eh?” He snarked, enjoying the small giggle that escaped past her lips. If anyone could lighten his spirits after a scene like that, it was Triss.

“Of course.” She replied, her emerald eyes bright with excitement. Triss leaned her head against Kian’s shoulder, taking comfort in his embrace. “It was a beautiful wedding.”

“Mhm,  _ almost  _ as beautiful as the woman who attended it with me.” Kian mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to her thick fiery hair. She made a delightful noise in her throat and for a moment, the witcher considered retiring early as well. Nothing sounded better than a night wrapped in sheets with the love of his life. 

Then Lambert joined them and ruined the mood.

The troublemaker rolled his eyes at their display of affection, a fresh mug of ale in his hand. He seemed to have already gotten over the argument, or at least chosen to ignore what had happened a few minutes before, and instead decided to brood with them as his witnesses. Kian had to keep from lashing out at the younger witcher’s attitude. He had no time for Lambert’s games. He brushed another kiss over Triss’ crimson locks before turning his eerie eyes across the table.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to grace us with your presence?” Kian asked, trying his damnedest to stay neutral. He would throw Lambert out on his ass if he felt the desire to leave the comfort of Triss’ presence. 

Lambert rolled his eyes instead of speaking. Kian clenched his fists to keep from leaping over the table and knocking him out. It wouldn’t do any good to start another fight. Triss laid a hand over one of his closed fists. The touch settled his anger enough that he could think straight. He attempted to think of a way to get his fellow witcher away from the table when the sorceress did it for him.

“Hey, Lamby!” Angharad’s voice boomed over the ruckus, loud and clear as if she was standing beside them. “I challenge you.”

Lambert raised an eyebrow, clearly interested in this ‘challenge’ but irritated at the name she called him. He was always irritated about something when Kian thought about it. “What’s the challenge and the prize?”

Angharad walked towards him with a drink in her hand, her dress swishing against the floor. Her eyes watched Lambert with every step she took. She slammed the mug in her hand on the table in front of him with a force greater than one would have expected. Lambert eyed the drink for a moment before glancing up at her curiously.

Angharad placed her hands on her hips and stared down at him. Her strange eyes have scared the most powerful men in Temeria, but Lambert didn’t flinch. He didn’t break his gaze either. “We’re going drink for drink. Loser has to wear the winner’s clothes for an entire evening.  _ In front of people. _ ”

“I’m in.” There was no hesitation on Lambert’s part. He stood and lifted the drink, chugging it before anyone could speak. When he was finished, he smacked his lips and grinned at Angharad. “Your turn, witch.”

“Oooh.” Eskel covered his face with his hands, knowing like the rest of his friends that something was started that wouldn’t end until one of them was on the floor. “Lambert, man, no.”

Angharad reached for Kian’s drink, not bothering to ask beforehand. Lifting it in a mocking toast, a nasty smirk graced her beautiful face. “To Lambert’s big mouth and ego. Hopefully his hips aren’t as wide. Otherwise he’ll rip my dress.”

Lambert snorted and downed another drink once she had finished. Out of the corner of his eye, Kian noticed Geralt of Rivia watching the contest, enraptured. He was having more fun than Lambert was it seemed. Kian wished that he could have been as excited as his old friend was.

Eskel stood with a drink in his hand. He was already stinking drunk, but the man didn’t seem to notice. “I accept the challenge as well.”

Angharad pursed her lips and tried not to laugh. “Darling, this is between Lambert and I.”

Eskel shook his head and stumbled. He gripped Lambert’s shoulder to keep him upright before holding his cup out towards the woman he loved. “Fill ‘er up.”

Angharad said nothing and instead shrugged before pouring him some vodka. Eskel lifted the filled cup to his lips. Most of the liquid missed his mouth and dripped onto his clothing. He pulled the mug away and glanced down at his soaked shirt. “Shit.”

“‘Ts not a problem.” Lambert hiccuped, dumping some of his vodka on his own shirt. “Now we match.”

Angharad rubbed the spot between her eyes as she watched the two men laugh at their stupidity. It was clear that this was going to be no contest. Eskel and Lambert had no chance. Not with how far gone they already were. A few drinks in and Lambert looked unsteady on his feet. He fell into a chair when he attempted to sit, his legs leaving the ground as his ass hit the seat. Eira, Lambert’s lady love, covered her mouth as a small laugh escaped her. Eskel, however, was lying on top of one of the unoccupied tables, snoring loudly.

Angharad sat across from Lambert, another pair of drinks in her hands. Kian watched as she handed one to Lambert, but the alcohol was beginning to affect her as well. “Give up yet?”

Lambert grabbed the vodka from her, sloshing some over the sides. “You wish, witch.” When he finished taking a gulp of the liquor, he pointed at her. “Hey, ya know what’d be fun? If ya changed into an owl. Right ‘ere. Right now.”

“I drank too much.” Angharad replied, slurring her words slightly. “It wouldn’t work.”

Lambert, a goofy smirk on his face, leaned forward. He had a determined look in his eyes. “I  _ dare _ you.”

Angharad bit her lip at his words, fire in her gaze. Suddenly, she stood up, knocking the bottle of vodka to the floor. The bottle smashed to pieces, the wasted alcohol seeping into the floor boards. The pair ignored the loss to instead stare each other down. 

Eira stepped between them. Gripping Lambert’s arm, she pulled him away from the sorceress. Nothing good could come of them daring one another to do things while drunk. “Lambert, let it be. It can be a tie for all I care. Stop trying to kill each other.”

Lambert looked at his lover, eyes wide like an innocent puppy’s. “But she started it.”

Angharad crossed her hands over her chest, looking angry as ever. “And I’ll finish it, too. Grab a bottle, Lambert. This isn’t done until one of us is on the ground.”

Eira sighed as they walked back to the waitress for more drinks. The druid’s emerald eyes met Kian’s, looking for some help. With a sigh, the witcher heaved himself to his feet and followed the drunkards.

Dandelion’s eyes widened as the story ended. “No way. There  _ has _ to be more.”

Kian shook his head, the strong tea in his hands much needed after the night before. “I followed them only to find Lambert passed out on the floor, Angharad’s lying on him as if he was a pillow. They hadn’t even made it to the waitress.”

Petra giggled, leaning her head against Dandelion’s shoulder. The two looked so blissful that the witcher almost felt guilty for telling them of the night’s antics. “At least Angharad didn’t polymorph. She might have hurt herself.”

Kian nodded in agreement. “At least us fools had Eira, otherwise something terrible might have happened. As it is, Geralt and I had the difficult job of getting Eskel and Lambert to their respective beds. They are not light in weight.”

Dandelion sighed wistfully. “I missed all of the fun.”

“Be grateful, Dandelion. You can spin this in any way you’d like and none would know the truth. I’m sure the rest of us would gladly let the other three fear for what happened.” Kian sipped his tea. “Embellish, if you know what I mean.”

Petra smiled. “It’s all he knows how to do.”

“You wound me, my love.” Dandelion said, burying his face in Petra’s hair. “But you are correct, of course.”

Kian took that as a goodbye. With a small wave to his friends, the witcher left them to their wedded bliss. He longed to hear the stories that Dandelion would spin of the night. Perhaps it would reunite Angharad and Lambert in mutual disdain of Dandelion’s tale. One could only hope.


End file.
